


Satellite Call

by Beatbot (HeartInABoxx)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartInABoxx/pseuds/Beatbot
Summary: Maggie gets hurt.  Alex is there.





	

 

Your eyes cut to the bed every time you hear the rustling of sheets, signaling the shift of her body.

Maggie’s been unconscious for a few hours after taking a really nasty hit to the head. Kara helped you get her home after she’d been checked out and you insisted that she would not take well to waking up in the DEO. So you tucked her into your bed, and settled onto your uncomfortable leather couch with a beer, in a spot that conveniently lets you keep an eye the bed.

Your legs cross at the ankles as they rest atop the coffee table and your head drops back against black leather and turns to look at her. The sight of her in your bed does something to you that’s inexplicable. It awakens something that thrums vibrantly inside you, and laps at you like the flames of a fire, warming you in a way you never thought possible. She’s so quiet and still and her face is slack, free from the stress of the job and the things they both see on a nightly basis. She looks young, and so beautiful lying there.

The apartment is dark. The only lights come from the TV that you’re not really watching, and a small lamp you left on in the corner of the bedroom so Maggie wouldn’t wake up to total darkness to go along with the unfamiliarity of the apartment around her.

Your fingers literally twitch with a longing to touch her. It’s been two days since your grand revelation at the bar, and you haven’t been able to get the way she looked at you out of your head as you tried, and failed, to say the words that had been pinging in your brain.

_I think I might be gay._

But sitting here now, all you want to do is sweep her hair from her eyes and press your lips to the bandage covering her forehead and pull her into your arms where you know she’ll be safe for at least the next twelve hours.

She shifts again and your eyes lock on to her form in your bed, looking much smaller than she should. In fact, it’s startling to see her practically dwarfed under the navy duvet on your king-sized bed when you’re used to her personality making her so much bigger than she actually is.

There’s suddenly a groan from the bed and you’re on your feet instantly, dropping your beer on the coffee table with a dull thunk. You approach slowly and keep your distance as you watch her get her bearings so you don’t startle her. She squints even against the low light as her eyes open and you know it must be the headache that comes with having your head smashed against concrete in a fight with an alien twice your size. She runs a hand over her face and seems to be taking in her environment.

Then she spots you, and a pained – but sort of achingly familiar - smile stretches her lips, and she relaxes down between the dark grey sheets again.

“Danvers,” she rasps and you move closer. She’s doing her damndest to keep up that smile of hers that you’ve seen so many times, but it makes something inside you ache when it sort of ends up looking more like a grimace.

“How are you feeling?” You know it’s a stupid question, because you’ve suffered enough head injuries to know exactly how she’s feeling. Your arms cross over your chest to keep yourself from reaching out to touch her, and you stand sort of awkwardly next to the bed.

“Mmm,” she hums at first. Then she twists - forcing a grunt out from between pretty, pink lips – and shifts to her left side to gingerly prop herself up on her elbow. “I’m okay. I’ve had worse hangovers, to be honest.”

“Oh really?” You shoot her a dubious look and take a few steps closer, reaching out to poke a finger gently into where you know there are bandages covering the right side of her torso. It’s barely enough contact to feel, but it makes her hiss and glare up at you.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Point taken,” Maggie answers immediately and it makes you smile.

“Do you need anything?” Your hands both ball into fists to keep from reaching out to her again.

“Can I have some water?”

You nod and move to the kitchen where you grab her a glass of water and swipe the little, orange pill bottle from the counter on your way back to the bedroom. You backtrack and root through one of the junk drawers to find a pen light as well.

She’s got the blanket flipped off her legs and is pulling herself up into a seated position, so you lean against the doorway to watch her stubborn streak in action.

“You can’t possibly have another hot date that you’re trying to get to right now,” you say, and it’s honestly all you can do to keep jealousy from leaking into your tone. Because Maggie had obviously been pretty torn up about her breakup, and the amount of effort it took you to even get her to _consider_ hanging out was sort of ridiculous. The thought of some other girl sweeping in and actually getting her to agree makes you seethe a little.

She smirks up at you and painstakingly swings her legs over the side of the bed. You stay put. It seems as though you’re both waiting to see what will happen once she stands up.

It’s clear the moment she pushes off the bed that she’s in no shape to be on her feet, and you scramble forwards to keep her from falling, somehow without spilling water all over either of you.

“Where could you possibly have to go this badly?” you ask softly. She’s curled in your arms – albeit, a little awkwardly – and you can’t remember it ever feeling like this. Being this close to someone. She’s warm and soft and sort of fits you perfectly. You’re breathless and weightless and sort of feel like you could careen off into space at any moment.

“I have to pee,” she says.

You huff because it seems like Maggie is difficult sometimes just for the sake of it, and you deposit her gently against the bed so you can empty your hands. When you turn to her, you extend your hands and for some reason it causes a swell of vulnerability inside you. She gives you that crooked smile of hers again and lets you pull her to her feet and help her across the room to the en-suite.

You give her some privacy and head to the kitchen to order some food. It’s late, but you order a few pizzas and grab a fresh beer from the fridge. You scroll through some messages on your phone - most from Kara asking how Maggie is feeling – but before you can answer her, you spot Maggie easing her way back across your bedroom towards the bed.

Your phone and second beer are abandoned as you make your way back into the bedroom and head for the pill bottle you left earlier. You press off the top and shake out a few pills as she eases down onto the mattress, keeping both feet on the floor.

“What am I doing here?” she asks as you extend your hand, palm up, with two white pills resting there. “Nice place, by the way. From what I can see anyways.”

It’s hard to ignore the fluttering in your stomach at that. You’ve never really cared much for the apartment. It’s big and modern and Kara had loved it instantly, so of course you’d gotten it. But you honestly find it sort of cold, so you don’t spend a ton of time in it. Still, it’s nice to know that Maggie also approves. “I didn’t think you’d want to wake up at the DEO in a glass box with no privacy,” you tell her quietly, swallowing when her fingers brush your palm to take the pills.

“You’ve got that right.” Maggie nods and presses both pills between her lips, reaching for the water glass. “Thanks, Danvers.”

She winces as she shifts again as you watch her swallow the pills. The way her throat bobs has you suddenly thinking about what it would be like to press your lips there. “A few bruised ribs and a pretty nasty concussion this time,” you say, hoping to distract yourself from your thoughts about the woman in your bed.

She nods. “I can call a cab or whatever. Get outta your hair. I’m not even sure where my bike is.”

“Not a chance,” you say immediately and feel your cheeks burn when she turns a playful smirk in your direction. You backtrack. “Your bike is downstairs. And you need someone around for the first 12 hours. Make sure you don’t go into a coma.”

She stares at you like she can see right through you. And to be honest, you’re not making it very difficult to do so. You haven’t slept much over the last three nights thinking about her, and what she means to you, and what that means about who you are.

You care about her.

You think you might want her in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anyone.

“Okay then. Do I at least get some jammies?”

At that you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up out of you, because it’s probably the most ridiculous thing she’s ever said to you. She can’t hold it in either, but hers makes her wince and groan and press her hands against her side, and the sight of her in more pain sobers you instantly.

“Stay put.”

You duck into the walk-in closet and find her some sweats and a comfy t-shirt and drop the clothes next to her before you bend over to get a better look at her eyes. You pull out the pen light and hold up a finger. “Look here a minute.”

One brow rises and you’re bracing yourself for the teasing. “Doctor Danvers, is it?”

The way she says it makes your stomach twist pleasantly, and you suddenly feel a little hazy.   You pray your hands don’t shake when you hold the light up to sweep over her eyes. Her pupils look good, and she teases you even more when you tell her so. “Any light-headedness? Dizziness?”

She shakes her head. “Not since I stood up a few minutes ago. It’s passed.”

You point towards her torso. “Do you mind?”

Her eyes lock on to yours and she shakes her head and lifts one shoulder in a way that you think was meant to be a casual shrug, but she grunts in pain and you hide your smile because nothing is more adorable than badass Maggie Sawyer unable to hide behind her usual persona.

You take a breath and lean in closer, pressing your hands against her ribs carefully to make sure there are still no breaks. Her body flinches under your careful hands, and when you glance up at her face you realize she’s studiously avoiding your gaze.

And she’s also holding her breath.

You showered pretty much the moment she was comfortably tucked into your bed, so you know it can’t possibly be because you smell like you’ve been fighting aliens.

“Breathe,” you murmur, and her head turns towards you. The look she’s giving you makes you think that maybe Maggie might want you in the same way you think you want her. It’s enough to send a jolt of panic through you because that would suddenly make all of this very real.

You straighten up and take one step away from her. “You should change. Pizza will be here soon.”

You can’t look at her, and you’re nearly to the door when her voice stops you.

“Hey, Alex?” You’re so stunned by her use of your first name that you turn without a word. She gives you that damn disarming smile again and the panic just ebbs away. “Thanks.”

The next time you hear her use your first name is about two minutes later when she’s calling you rather uncertainly. You push the bedroom door open and find her standing beside the bed in your sweats, but she’s still holding the t-shirt between both hands, her nearly ruined shirt still clinging to her.

You frown down at the shirt. “What’s wrong?”

She glances down at the shirt, avoiding your eyes again. “I can’t exactly lift my arms over my head.”

Realization dawns and you step closer. You’re suddenly in her air space again, a little closer this time, and it makes your head swim. She’s so close to you and she smells so good. You grasp the hem of her shirt and raise an eyebrow. “Ready?” She gives you a short nod and you begin working the shirt up over her ribs, her breasts, and then her shoulders and head. You hear a few gasps and grunts of pain and it makes your stomach turn, knowing the pain well yourself, but a moment later Maggie is standing before you in nothing but loose fitting sweats that hang dangerously low on her hips, and her bra.

Your eyes trail the planes of her stomach and the juts of her hipbones, for just a moment, because you find that you can’t really help it and it makes you lightheaded. You swallow hard and reach for the shirt in Maggie’s hand.

“Make sure you tell Supergirl this was all on the up-and-up.”

“What?” Your head snaps up so you can meet her eyes, because that was the last thing you expected to come out of her mouth.

“Supergirl,” she repeats. Her gaze drops to your lips briefly, then suddenly falls to trail over the shirt in your hands. That you still haven’t put on her. You straighten it out so she can slide her hands through the arm holes and you begin to tug it gently up her arms and over her head. “I’m standing here half-naked in your bedroom, wearing your clothes. I was sleeping in your bed. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about me. I really don’t want to be on her bad side.”

“What?” Eloquent as always, you think to yourself.

Maggie hisses, her face screwed up in pain as her arms return to her sides and the shirt falls over her ribs. She presses a hand there. “Aren’t you two a thing?”

You roll your eyes. “No. She’s just a very close friend.”

Her head suddenly tilts in that maddeningly beautiful way, and she looks like she’s trying to determine if you’re telling the truth. She exhales a shallow breath, hand still pressed over her side, and she sits back down on the bed.

You reach out and grasp the edge of the duvet and hold it up, pointing towards the space below it. “Get some rest. Pizza will be here soon.”

She doesn’t put up too much of a fuss after that. Even that little bit of excitement seems to have worn her out because she sort of slumps back against the pillows the moment she’s back in your bed.

You hesitate before taking a seat on the bed next to her hip. Her eyelids flutter beautifully as she glances up at you with a questioning look. You reach for her hand and hold it between both of yours. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Maggie smirks, and it’s a little sleepy, and it’s infuriating and endearing and exhilarating all at once. “Worried about me, Danvers?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat and meet her gaze. “I was.” Your voice waivers the same way it did in the bar. “Still am.”

She holds your gaze, her dark eyes sparkling somehow, even in the dark of the room around you and her smile is small, but warm, and it lights you up inside. “I’ll be fine.”

Your mouth opens again, but suddenly you can hear the phone ringing in the living room. You stare at her for one more beat before you move to answer the call.

It’s Kara. Because, of course, who else would it be?

She’s calling to check on Maggie. And you, by default.

She seems to sense something in your tone, because you’re honestly too tired to try to keep up appearances for her sake. You tell her you’ll talk tomorrow and she lets it go, but not before telling you that she loves you.

Your lips purse as you stare at your phone once the call is disconnected. There’s so much you haven’t told her. About Maggie, and your feelings for her. And that’s not entirely uncommon. Kara is usually the one talking about _her_ feelings and _her_ crushes on everyone from Jimmy Olsen to Cat Grant to, most recently, Lena Luthor, so it’s not that unusual to keep what you’re feeling to yourself.

But the way those feelings fundamentally change who you think you are now is something that actually _is_ a big deal to hide from her. Not that you’re actively hiding anything from her, but you certainly haven't been in a rush to disclose much. Hiding the DEO was the single biggest challenge for you with Kara, and you vowed after you came clean with her that you’d never keep something that big from her again.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts and you pay for the pizzas and set them on the coffee table, thinking it might be the most comfortable place to eat, because as much as you like Maggie, no one eats in your bed.

Your cheeks flush as your brain somehow makes a dirty joke and the fleeting image of Maggie eating something else entirely makes you flush.

You make your way back to the bedroom and find her fast asleep, and once again you find yourself completely charmed by the way she looks sleeping in your bed.

Pizza forgotten, you make your way to the other side of the bed and drop down on top of the blankets carefully, so you don’t disturb her. You prop a few pillows up behind you and turn on the TV, smiling when Maggie gravitates towards your body heat in her sleep. You reach out and tuck the blankets up under her chin and the next thing you know you’re fast asleep next to her.

 

First try at a #Sanvers fic.  Hope I did them justice.  Also first try at using the second-person POV.  Hope you enjoyed!


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